The Hammer of the Scots Read Online Free Page B

Joanna.’
    It was natural that her mother should have doted on the child. Joanna had been bright and lively from her very youngest days. It was strange how people were particularly drawn to their namesakes. So it had been with Eleanor’s mother. She had adored the baby from the moment she had seen her. She had carried her off to her own apartments and would not relinquish her to her nurses or to her mother; and when it had been time for Edward and Eleanor to leave the Castilian Court, she had become so desolate declaring that when they had gone, taking the baby with them, she would have nothing to live for. What could a loving daughter do? Poor Eleanor, her tender heart had been deeply touched by her mother’s lonely state. ‘We owe her something,’ she had said to Edward. ‘Your father made her waste her youth when he was pretending he would marry her. And afterwards he jilted her for the sake of your mother, and no one asked for her hand until my father came along. I was the only child there was time for then, and I am married and gone far away from her.’
    Edward understood. Poor Eleanor, she was called upon once more to make one of those decisions which fall to people such as she was. A selfish woman would have had no difficulty. She would simply have done what she wanted. But Eleanor must always do what was right for others before she considered herself.
    So they had left Baby Joanna with Eleanor’s mother who seized the child hungrily and had all but hidden her away lest her parents should change their minds.
    And now here they were – home in England, Baby Joanna left behind in Castile.
    But on the shore the children whom they had left in England were waiting for them.
    There was a shout of joy as the King stepped ashore, quickly followed by his Queen.
    ‘Long live the King.’ The loyal cries went up.
    Edward stood for a moment, his wife beside him, listening to their cheers.
    Then he saw his mother, erect, her outstanding beauty scarcely impaired at all by the years and her grief. She was holding two children by the hand and the Queen’s eyes went immediately to them. She gave a little cry and held out her arms.
    They were running to her – Princess Eleanor, the daughter who had been named after her, and the little boy, Prince Henry, pale and breathless.
    ‘My darlings.’ The Queen had knelt down, her arms about them, tears in her eyes.
    ‘My lady,’ cried the Princess, ‘you are home at last. It is years and years ago that you went away …’
    She could only hold them to her.
    ‘Henry, my darling …’ Oh God, she thought. How pale he is! He is too small, too frail …
    Then Edward had picked up his son. He set him on his shoulder. He held his daughter close to him and stood there.
    A touching sight. This great king who towered above his subjects, dismissing ceremony, in that profound emotion engendered by his reunion with his family.
    The Queen – more beautiful than they remembered – standing there beside him. A happy omen. A king come home. Old Henry was gone; his extravagant wife was relegated to the background. King Edward had come into his own.
    ‘Long live the King.’
    Everyone who witnessed that affecting scene was sure that it was a good augury for England.

    Edward was proud as he rode up the steep hill to the castle keep. The road was lined with cheering subjects who were determined to let him know how pleased they were that he had returned, and in their cheers was the hope that in him they had a strong king who would set right all that had gone wrong during the mismanagement of the previous reigns.
    Dover had been aptly named by the early Britons Dvfyrrha, meaning the steep place. And what an inspiring sight it was to look down on that magnificent harbour and out to sea where he knew that on fine days the coast of France could be seen. Part of the castle was the work of the Romans and beside it was the ancient Pharos to remind people of their occupation. The castle was three